"Sure, now, did ever anyone see the like--just to look at the baste--sure he knows it's the young squire himself entirely. Och, but the young gintleman's as well acquainted with horses as myself--sure he'd make friends with a unicorn, if there was such an animal; and it's the unicorn that would be proud to let him, too!" "It has been used to boys, I think?" said my father. "Ye may say that, yer honour. It likes boys better than man, woman, or child, and it's not every baste ye can say that for." "A good many beasts have reason to think very differently, I fear," said my father. "And _that's_ as true a word as your honour ever spoke," assented the groom. Meanwhile a possible ground of consolation was beginning to suggest itself to my mind. "Will Mr. Gray keep his pony here?" I asked, "The pony will live here," said my father. "Oh, do you think," I asked, "do you think, that if I am very good, and do my lessons well, Mr. Gray will sometimes let me ride him? He _is_ such a darling!" By which I meant the pony, and not Mr. Gray. My father laughed, and put his hand on my shoulders. "I have only been teasing you, Regie," he said. "You know I told you there was no tutor in the case. Mr. Andrewes and I were talking about this pony, and when Mr. Andrewes said _grey_, he spoke of the colour of the pony, and not of anybody's name." "Then is the pony yours?" I asked. My father looked at my eager face with a pleased smile. "No, my boy," he said, "he is yours." The wild delight with which I received this announcement, the way I jumped and danced, and that Rubens jumped and danced with me, my gratitude and my father's satisfaction, the renewed amenities between myself and my pony, his obvious knowledge of the fact that I was his master, and the running commentary of the Irishman, I will not attempt to describe.